I am just an ordinary girl living in a small village called Bantswela-kae, a place filled with the warm spirit of Tswana people. What I love most about my home is the rich culture, the strong bond between neighbors, and — of course — the delicious food that fills the air during celebrations.
I live with my mother and sister, though we are not very close. I often feel like a distant daughter. Sometimes, I sit quietly at the kitchen table, pretending not to care as my mother and sister whisper about news I haven't heard. It makes me feel like a stranger in my own home. But over time, I have grown used to it, learning to find peace in my own small world.
My childhood was quiet. I never had many friends — being shy and introverted, I usually spent time with just one or two close companions. I attended Bantswela-kae Primary School, a small building at the heart of our village. My daily routine was simple: wake up, walk to school, come home, and finish my homework. If I felt adventurous, I would invite my friends over to play pretend house under the big mango tree behind my home, as the smell of freshly roasted maize drifted from the neighbor's yard under the hot sun. I was proud to be the one with the most toys, sharing them with the others as we imagined grand stories.
Now I am 18 years old — still the same introverted, shy girl — and I attend Bantswela-kae High School. I'm in matric.
It's Saturday morning. I woke up early (even though I'm not really a morning person) because today is spring cleaning day. As soon as I got up, I opened the window. I love the soft breeze that drifts through it, carrying the scent of fresh blooms and cut grass. Birds sing in the distance as sunlight warms the room. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, took a quick shower, and then went to the kitchen for breakfast.
I started cleaning my mom's room while she and my sister cleaned the other rooms. I chose her room because it's always the cleanest and quickest to finish. As I began sorting through a pile of papers, books, and files, an old-looking paper slipped out and fell to the floor. I picked it up and realized it was a birth certificate — and what shocked me most was that the date of birth and the name of the hospital were the same as mine. The only difference was the name written on it.
As I stood frozen in confusion, I heard footsteps approaching. Quickly, I slid the paper back between the files and continued cleaning like nothing happened.